Gallows
by Amynion
Summary: The musketeers set out to investigate a spate of killings in Paris. But as the bodies mount up, can Aramis keep himself from unravelling?
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** This idea was sparked by Donna Immaculata, and I also have to thank her for betaing :)

I should probably warn you this gets a bit darker, and there's a little bit of animal mutilation in later chapters. If you want fluff - run away! (I seem to be saying that a lot recently...)

Quotes are from CocoRosie's "Gallows". It's a nice vid/song if you want some nightmare fuel. Anyway, on to the fic!

* * *

**Gallows**

**Chapter One**

_They took him to the gallows  
He fought them all the way_

"Do you think one of us should rescue him?"

Aramis was closely watching the card game a few tables down. d'Artagnan had foolishly joined in against Porthos and a couple of the red guard. But Athos seemed deep in his drink and quite unconcerned.

The older musketeer's gaze briefly wandered over to their table and back down to his glass. "He knew what he was getting himself in to."

"And we know how this ends… how it _always_ ends." Aramis sat back with a sigh. d'Artagnan would end up penniless or in the middle of a brawl. That was just the reality of card games with Porthos.

Aramis got to his feet and was about to try to extricating d'Artagnan from his foolishness, but a man rushed in and crossed his path, making for the bar in a hurry. Nobody paid him any attention, his intrusion was lost amidst the raucous noise of the inn. Still, Aramis noted his gasping breath and pale face. The young musketeer followed, curiosity piqued, and saw the man's hands also shook as they came to rest atop the bar.

"The usual is it?" It didn't take long for the innkeeper to approach. "Jean… are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Make it a brandy… I was just on my way here, passing down the rue des Rosiers when I saw…" Jean stalled and put a trembling hand to his mouth.

"Yes?" The innkeeper leaned in, the drink forgotten for a moment.

"Guards… around a woman." He licked his dry lips and tried to continue. "Dead on the ground! Her throat was slit clean through, and the blood… there was so much blood."

"Another one? Dear God, what is the world coming to? I'll get you that drink Jean. Now sit down before you fall down."

Aramis had heard enough, he made his way back to their table. Athos raised an enquiring eyebrow as soon as he took his seat.

"Another girl found dead in the street… It's only just happened by the sounds of it."

Athos put his glass down abruptly. "That's what… the second this week? And five in all?"

"I think so."

Of course nobody was actually paying any serious attention to the murders. The victims were ladies of the night, and worth little more than stray dogs in the eyes of many. The musketeers only knew about the previous murders thanks to a visit to the morgue on unrelated business. Poupart had thought it of interest enough to mention in passing.

"We'll have to keep our eyes open. Maybe Treville will let us make a few enquiries."

Aramis gave a bitter smile. "I hardly think he's going to prioritise this over guard duty at the palace."

"Still, something needs to be done. There's a killer on the loose out there…"

Their conversation was interrupted by a roar from Porthos' table.

Aramis shot to his feet. "Here we go!"

**~oOo~**

When another body turned up Treville gave his permission for the musketeers to look in to the murders. Poupart hadn't been all that helpful, apart from providing locations for the bodies and a cause of death. They were all strangled or had their throats cut. The poor women had few personal effects, but what valuables they had remained with them, lockets, necklaces, rings… Robbery was no motive here.

Word reached the garrison one morning that another had been killed. The musketeers hastened along the streets, trying to reach the body before any evidence could be lost. Just as they rounded a corner onto a back alley they found a man leaning over the fallen women, pocketing a few trinkets from her body.

"Oi! Stop where you are!" d'Artagnan yelled.

Naturally the vulture took one look at them and hared away. d'Artagnan chased after him, with Porthos hot on his heels.

The alley fell silent as their harried footsteps faded away. Athos and Aramis were left alone with the body. She lay sprawled out in the middle of the alley, no attempt had been made to conceal her. As Aramis approached he was struck by the image of a fallen angel, her pale dress spread across the ground, and her long blonde hair splayed about her head like a halo. He stepped around to see her face and then froze. A sick feeling suddenly took him.

"What's the matter?" It hadn't gone unnoticed by Athos.

Aramis drew a couple of harsh breaths before answering. "I knew her… I saw her a few times at Madame Angel's. Her name was Amelie."

Amelie. She was warm, a bright girl, one who had fallen on hard times to end up in a place like that. Aramis remembered her smile, he recalled the touch of her skin beneath his fingers, and the brush of her lips against his own. She lay there with vacant eyes now, her skin was rigid and cold in death. Though empty, her eyes seemed to stare at Aramis... an involuntary shiver wracked his frame.

Athos gave the young musketeer a worried glance before kneeling to close the woman's eyes. "She's been strangled." He pointed out the marks about her neck. "Madame Angel's you say? Perhaps we should pay a visit… see if she knows of the other girls."

Aramis said nothing, he gave a slight nod and stood transfixed by Amelie's pale features once again.

Moments later d'Artagnan and Porthos returned, slightly out of breath and empty handed.

Athos raised an eyebrow. "He outran you?"

"Outmanoeuvred." Porthos frowned. "He knew these alleyways like the back of his hand."

"No matter. I doubt he had anything to do with the murder. She's been dead for hours. Can you and d'Artagnan arrange for her body to be removed? Aramis and I have a few questions to ask at Madame Angel's."

"Oh, so you get Madame Angel's and we get the morgue? You'll be buying the drinks tonight, my friend."

**~oOo~**

Athos placed a bottle of wine in the middle of the table and furnished his friends with a glass each. "Here you go, as promised."

Porthos poured out a generous amount. "So did you find anything useful at Madame Angel's?"

He gave Aramis a knowing look, bordering on a leer, but the young musketeer was still somewhat shaken. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Amelie lying cold and dead in the street, an empty gaze etched onto her face…

Athos cleared his throat and answered, seeing as Aramis offered nothing. "Well, I discovered that Aramis is quite popular over there… but more importantly the dead girls have all had an association with the place at one time or another."

d'Artagnan looked thoughtful. "You think it might be a patron with a grudge?"

"None of the girls I spoke to thought there was anything out of the ordinary. Everybody leaves satisfied as far as they're concerned. They say there has been no suspicious activity… no strange men hanging around."

"Apart from Aramis." Porthos shot a grin at the young musketeer, but Aramis wouldn't be drawn from his melancholy. He simply stared into the depths of his glass unmoved.

"The women who were murdered before, they had left Madame Angel's right?" d'Artagnan perked up as if he were on to something.

Athos nodded.

"Have you considered it might be Madame Angel herself, paying somebody to off those who leave? It would keep the girls scared, keep them with her…"

"Well, they're certainly scared alright. But…"

"It's not that kind of a place." Aramis' hard voice chipped in. "It's not run like… _that_."

A moment of uneasy silence passed around the table.

Porthos decided to break it. "So what have we got?"

Athos sighed. "A tenuous connection to Madame Angel's and little else… We'll have to post a guard there and increase street patrols at night. Maybe we can catch the killer in the act."

**~oOo~**

A couple of weeks passed with no murders, it seemed the killer had been scared off by the extra patrols. Still, Athos wasn't buying it and insisted they keep it up.

The musketeers still had their ordinary duties to attend to however, and it left the regiment spread a little thin. Treville was beginning to make noises about them finishing with the whole sorry business. They needed to make progress...

Aramis and Porthos rode into the garrison early one morning having just returned from a short mission delivering a package to a Comte outside of Paris. The sun was just beginning to chase away the tendrils of a cold night. Aramis gave a wide yawn before dismounting.

"Sounds like somebody needs to get their head down!" Porthos said as he slid from his own horse.

"Maybe I'll manage a bit of sleep… I'll have to be awake for patrol later, might as well sleep now if Treville doesn't need us."

"Well, we might not be at it much longer if Treville gets his way."

Aramis stifled another yawn. "It's a little hard to catch a murderer who has quit murdering…"

"We've still got seven bodies. Somebody killed them, and somebody should answer for it."

"Those bodies are in the ground…" A flicker of sorrow passed Aramis' face. "... and the trail is stone cold."

"He's out there. Somebody knows him… he's a father, a brother, a son, a friend. We just have to ask the right people the right questions. Perhaps you'll have to go and pay Madame Angel's another visit."

"If only it were that easy… Anyway, who says it's a man? Might be a woman." Aramis shrugged tiredly.

"Women don't kill like this, not usually anyway." Porthos frowned.

"Maybe they do and they're too clever to get caught, just like our murderer." Aramis gave a wan smile and looked around the courtyard. It had suddenly struck him that they were still holding their horses. Where was the stable boy?

Just then Serge emerged from the kitchen door, he spotted them and waved a hand. "Lads, you'll have to sort your own horses out."

"What? Why? Where's Pierre?" Aramis asked.

"Missing." The older man gave a tight shrug of his shoulders. "He never said a word to nobody about leaving. He's just… gone."

"When did this happen?" Porthos fixed a serious eye on Serge.

"Just before you left. Nobody's seen hide nor hair of him since."

"What of his family? Has word been sent? Have they seen him?" Aramis fired more questions.

"Were you listening? I said nobody's seen him." Serge snapped, but then his tone suddenly softened. "He's got a sister in Paris, father's dead and his mother's somewhere out in the sticks as far as I know. And before you ask - his sister hasn't seen him."

The old man went to shuffle away and continue his business.

"Maybe he's gone to visit his mother…" Aramis spoke half heartedly, not really believing his own words.

"Without saying anything to anybody? Treville would have his hide for just upping and disappearing like that." Porthos scowled and started to lead his horse towards the stables.

Aramis followed close behind, his horse snorting impatiently. "Pierre will turn up, I'm sure he will."

The boy turned up three days later. His body washed ashore on the banks of the Seine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Why kill a stable boy? He's not important... _none_ of them have been important. He had nothing worth taking, and the others weren't robbed… This is killing for killing's sake." Aramis picked at his food halfheartedly.

They sat at the bench in the garrison, eating their meals, trying to figure things out… In truth a murder closer to home had shaken them all a little.

"Maybe it's not the same killer. This breaks the pattern entirely. A different victim, a different method of killing, and the body was disposed of. He has not bothered before…" Athos had paid a trip to the morgue earlier, where it was revealed Pierre had been killed by a blow to the head. There was no question that he died before going into the river.

"And what is more likely? That we have _two_ killers on the loose in Paris?"

Porthos gave an amused grunt. "We probably have more than that. People are killed in the Court every day of the week. The only reason we know about this one is it happened to one of our own."

Aramis ran a tired hand through his hair. "Porthos… I do not wish to cast aspersions on your previous home or friends…"

"Oh, cast away, I know what they are." Porthos interjected with a sad smile.

"... but the inhabitants of the Court do tend towards the more criminal side of the fence. Those killings, as unsavoury as they are, have motives behind them. Unpaid debts, grudges, robberies… What is the motive here? Pierre was a simple boy leading a simple life, he had no enemies and nobody who would gain by his death."

The boy's sister and friends had all been questioned. Pierre was well liked, he kept his nose out of trouble, and there seemed to be no reason at all why anybody would want him dead. Once again they had hit a brick wall.

"Well gentlemen, d'Artagnan and I must be on our way, guard duty at the palace awaits…" Athos shot a look between Aramis and Porthos. "You two had better get what sleep you can if you're on patrol tonight. Keep your eyes open and report back anything out of the ordinary, if a rat so much as sneezes strangely I want to know about it - need I remind you Treville has given us only a few days more to keep this up?"

Aramis looked up from his plate, worry creasing his face. "Do you think the murders might start again once we've stopped the extra patrols?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to find out. So keep alert."

**~oOo~**

Athos and d'Artagnan were just returning to the garrison as Porthos and Aramis were making to leave.

"Have you seen Maret? He was meant to be on guard duty with us." Athos led his horse into a stable and started untacking. "He didn't turn up..."

"Not since muster this morning. He wasn't looking that well though, I noticed he was at the inn late last night. Think he went home to sleep it off?" Porthos' hands paused at his horse's girth strap as he turned to exchange a worried glance with Athos.

"We checked his lodgings, his landlady said she hadn't seen him since he left for the garrison."

A moment of uneasy silence passed around the stable. They were all imagining another body washing up along the Seine.

Athos cleared his throat before speaking again. "I'll go out and look for him, check along the river bank."

At that Aramis left his horse and came along the row of stables to face Athos. "We'll look, we're on patrol anyway, we might as well go down to the river. You go home and get some sleep, you look ready to drop."

Athos couldn't disguise the shadows beneath his eyes. This whole business and the extra patrols had them all feeling worn thin. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep knowing he's missing."

"Then stop here and have a look around the garrison, maybe he's fallen asleep in a corner somewhere. Plus you'll be here in case he returns…" Aramis put a gentle hand to his arm "... but please humour me and get a bit of sleep when you've done."

At that Athos gave a tired nod and relinquished the search to his friends.

Once mounted Porthos and Aramis made their way to the river bank. A full moon lit the water and silvered waves lapped gently against the shallow bank. A shiver ran through Aramis, and he pulled his cloak tighter to guard against the night's chill. Every discarded sack melted into a fallen body. It reminded him of the way broken trees in the snow became his brothers. Cracked birch branches reached out like skeletal hands, until Aramis shook his head and reality righted itself. He did so now and the debris of Paris took its place innocuously on the bank, lying there as if it had never been anything else.

Much to the musketeer's relief there were no bodies to be found, and so they turned their attention back to the streets of Paris. Everybody Porthos and Aramis came across was given a thorough questioning, but the streets were quiet for the most part. Nobody wanted to be out after hours when there was a murderer on the loose. Suddenly a great crash sounded from a back alley they were passing. Aramis leapt from his horse and brandished his sword in an instant.

"Stay where you are! Show yourself!" He bellowed as he charged down the alley with Porthos following close behind.

They came to an abrupt halt on finding a startled cat standing by a fallen crate. It paused for only a moment before fleeing at the sight of the two men ready for action.

Aramis let out a huff of breath in amusement. "It's just a cat."

Porthos gave a wry grin and sheathed his sword. "Think we'll have to report it to Athos?"

"Oh I don't think this is out of the ordinary enough. We had an excellent mouser at home when I was younger, it always seemed to take great delight in knocking things over."

The young musketeer stepped forwards to place the crate back on the pile it had come from. He stalled and let it go. The crate crashed at his feet, but the sound seemed to come from far away. Aramis' breath had caught in his throat.

There was a foot protruding from behind the pile…

As Aramis slowly walked around to the other side, his heart fell through his feet. "Oh no…"

Concealed behind the crates, Maret was lying propped up against the wall. Blood blossomed from a point in his chest and it had run to pool on the ground beneath him. Beside him lay his dagger, dipped in red. His eyes were open and as vacant as Amelie's had been. Aramis wanted to turn away, but he felt fixed to the spot, staring as intently as Maret. He felt Porthos draw alongside him. The man was a steady comforting presence. He placed a hand on Aramis' shoulder and seemed to deflate with a sigh.

"Maret… He didn't deserve this." Aramis felt the hand at his shoulder tighten. "When we find the killer, I'm going to-"

"No. He's going to hang." Aramis interrupted, his voice was hard, though tainted with sorrow. "He's going to hang, and we're all going to watch."

The hand disappeared from his shoulder as Porthos turned away with a growl.

Aramis tried to tear his eyes away, but he couldn't… Moonlight reflected against the pooled blood just as it had touched the river. He stood transfixed by the bright points in the dark ichor.

"Hang on, what's this?"

Porthos broke Aramis from his vigil. The young musketeer turned to find Porthos picking up a strip of parchment a few feet from the body. There was a visible scrawl across it.

"What does it say?" Aramis asked.

Instead of reading it, Porthos handed the parchment to Aramis with a look that said he was more than a little disturbed.

"_The Lord has prepared his people for a great slaughter and has chosen their executioners…_" Aramis licked his dry lips. "It's a bible verse."

"What man of God would do this?"

"I don't know…" Aramis answered quietly. "We need to find Athos."

**~oOo~**

The same frustrating lack of leads surrounded Maret's death. There was no reason for it... There was no reason for _any_ of the killings. It left Aramis irritable. He patrolled the streets at night kindling anger in his heart. He wanted to cross paths with the killer so that he might let his fists fly and release his mounting wrath.

One thing they did have was the note. With a religious connection the musketeers had set about visiting churches and questioning the priests. Not one had noticed any suspicious people amongst their flock. Nor would they break the inviolable seal of confession to reveal any telling sins.

It added to the frustration, but something in Aramis wouldn't allow himself to get angry at a priest. Instead he channeled his anger towards finding the killer. With a musketeer dead Treville had allowed their night patrols to continue, and Aramis stalked the streets with a renewed zeal.

"Keep up!" Aramis cursed under his breath.

Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan were attending other duties, which left Aramis on patrol with one of the newer recruits - Allais. He was nowhere near as enthusiastic as Aramis. Perhaps he hadn't been with the regiment long enough to feel that sense of brotherhood and anger at one of their own being killed.

"I thought I saw-" Allais gasped as he jogged up to Aramis' side.

"What? What did you see?" Aramis stopped and rounded on him.

"Nothing, it was nothing. Just a shadow."

Aramis growled and stalked onwards, only slowing as they came across a man up ahead leaning against a wall. He seemed to be watching a window.

"He's up to something… tread carefully." Aramis tried to move into a position around the corner where they could watch without being seen, but he was too late. The man took a surreptitious look about him and set off at a brisk walk on spotting the two musketeers.

Once again Aramis swore colourfully. "Let's follow him, don't be too obvious now."

As they walked the streets the man kept snatching glances over his shoulder. He drew his cloak about him and pulled his hat down to conceal as much of his face as he could.

"Look at him, he doesn't want to be seen." Aramis whispered under his breath.

Allais nodded and followed eagerly.

The suspicious stranger wound a circuitous route about the city, and then he ducked down a back alley.

A predatory grin took Aramis' face. "I'm done with this cat and mouse game. Allais, you follow after him and I'll cut around to head him off. We'll have him trapped like a rat."

Aramis set off at a jog after giving Allais a push towards the darkened alleyway. Eventually he rounded a corner and nearly crashed into the man they were pursuing. The stranger had been running, his breath came hard and fast like a scared rabbit. Aramis took a hold of him and dashed the man against the wall.

Between breaths he managed to gasp out terrified words. "It's not me! I didn't do it!"

"What didn't you do?!" Aramis roared.

"I haven't killed anyone!"

"Then what were you doing lurking about under that window?"

"My wife… I was watching my wife. She's having an affair with the butcher. He left his ring on the bedside table… See…" He fished a ring out of his pocket and waved it at Aramis.

The young musketeer snatched it up for a cursory examination before going on to give him a more thorough search. Now seeing the man close up he didn't seem the killing sort. His manner reminded Aramis of Bonacieux, he didn't even carry a weapon.

"My apologies Monsieur… Perhaps you should consider what you can do to make your wife happier at home, hmm? Now be on your way."

Aramis gave the man a push towards the street and turned back to the alley with a litany of 'thank you's echoing behind him.

"Allais?" The lad should have caught up… the alley wasn't _that_ long.

Surely he hadn't gotten himself lost? There was only one way in and one way out as far as Aramis knew… but it would be like Allais to get himself into trouble. Aramis had rescued him from a humiliating defeat at the hands of the Red Guard not too long ago. They were ducking his head into a pig trough.

"Allais?" Aramis shouted again as he walked down the alleyway. A note of fear unfurled in his heart.

And turning a corner there he was. Spread eagle on his back in the half light. A sword impaled the young man through the middle and his face was frozen in a silent scream.

Aramis ran to his side and dropped down, hands hovering awkwardly over the body, unsure where to touch… whether to touch… He suddenly felt guilty at being so harsh with Allais. They should have stuck together, he should have protected the lad.

As he knelt there, struggling through hitched breaths, Aramis noticed a length of parchment held in place by the blade. He looked the rapier up and down, from it's elegant swept hilt to where the point disappeared in Allais' body… the parchment sat slightly bloodstained above the wound. And suddenly it reminded him of something else. Aramis recalled the relentless rain… he knelt before a sword standing upright in Marsac's grave.

Shaking his head, Aramis reached out to pull the parchment away. Scrawled across it were words slightly obscured by red, but it was clear enough to read.

_Cursed be he that doeth the work of the Lord negligently, and cursed be he that keepeth back his sword from blood._

From somewhere far away screams filtered through the trees… Aramis shook his head again. There were no trees here, just walls. Brick and stone... no wood. There was blood though. So much blood. Spattered, spread and pooling… Cold grey faces, frozen, with staring eyes. Just as Allais stared now. Aramis sat back and clasped his hands before him, his eyes locked on to Allais' greying face and he tried to suppress a sob... He should have done something. He should have protected them… What use was being a soldier if he could not protect his brothers?

Time passed, Aramis was not aware of it. Minutes turned into hours, but they were of no consequence... Not unless they could turn backwards and bring the dead back to life. Eventually there were voices and hands pulling at him, but he pushed them all away with a growl. In the end a warm hand took his shoulder, and Aramis seemed to melt at the contact.

"Come on… Come away. You can leave him now, we've got him."

Finally Aramis turned his eyes away from Allais and looked up to find the familiar face of Porthos.

**~oOo~**

Later that morning Aramis sat in bed staring at the wall, watching the most fascinating of nothing. Around him there was a conversation going on he would greatly liked to have been part of, but he just couldn't find the words…

"He's still a bit shaken. Don't think he'll be up for doing duties today." Porthos offered as Athos stood warily at the door.

"Very well, will you stop with him? I have to speak with Treville."

"Of course, he'll probably be all right in an hour or so." Porthos looked his way. Aramis could practically feel the worry coming off him in waves. "He hasn't been like this since… well, you know."

"If you need anything, let me know. When he's…" Athos seemed to struggle to find the right words, he tried again. "When he's... more himself, we'll be heading back to make a few enquiries of the locals. Will you join us if you feel able?"

"I will."

Aramis heard the sound of the door as Athos left, but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the wall. Nor could he tell how much time had passed before he was able to speak. His voice was faint when he used it.

"I'm sorry… I'm keeping you from your duties."

"Not at all." Porthos reached out to squeeze his knee. "Anyway, you're part of my duties. You were out there… will you tell me what happened? If you can."

Aramis swallowed heavily and gave a stiff nod. "We were following a man… Allais went after him down an alley and I headed around the other side to cut him off. I caught him... he'd been watching his wife… affair with the butcher you see." Aramis pulled out the ring to show Porthos as if it would prove his point and tell its own story.

Clumsily Aramis put it away again, and then he drifted off for a moment, caught by the way faint dust motes danced in the thin light from the window.

"Aramis?" Porthos prompted.

He started suddenly. "I didn't hear any screaming… Not from him. Not from now."

"The man you followed, what happened to him?" Porthos tried to guide Aramis back to his previous train of thought.

"I let him go… He wasn't a killer, hadn't got it in him. And then I went to find Allais… he was screaming, but I didn't hear anything."

"I know... was that how you found him? Did you touch anything?"

"Impaled on his own sword… That's how I found him. 'Cursed be he that doeth the work of the Lord negligently, and cursed be he that keepeth back his sword from blood.' It was written… impaled with him…" Aramis fished around in his pocket and drew out the parchment.

Porthos took it delicately and read the stained words with a frown.

"Athos needs to see this. Will you be alright while I find him?"

"Yes… Go... Don't let me keep you. This killer needs catching."

Porthos looked at him uncertainly. Aramis hated that look, it was the one he always used when the young musketeer insisted he was fine and Porthos thought differently.

Aramis gave his arm a reassuring pat. "I'll be alright. I won't move from the bed, I promise you."

"If I find you up and about, questioning folk…" He left the threat hanging in midair.

Aramis gave him the most innocent smile he could summon. Porthos didn't seem convinced, but he left all the same.

True to his word Aramis remained in bed. He slept the hours away. Aramis expected to be woken by Porthos soon after taking to his sheets. However it was dark when he heard the door to his room open. Someone set about lighting a candle, and then they gave Aramis a slight shake, bringing him to wakefulness completely. He winced slightly, feeling a pull at his ribs… He couldn't remember receiving a blow there, but unexplained aches and pains were part of a soldier's life.

The young musketeer blinked heavily and struggled to focus on the face flickering above him in the candlelight. The face coalesced into Athos' grim features. Porthos slipped in behind him.

Aramis sat up and stifled a yawn. "What is it?"

"There's been another killing. Paquin was stabbed in his bed... run through with his own dagger. This was left behind." Athos held out another piece of stained parchment. The words were messier, but still legible…

'_I will send the sword to kill, the dogs to drag away, the vultures to devour, and the wild animals to finish up what is left._'


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Athos leaned over the garrison bench and smoothed out each piece of parchment before laying it down on the table.

_The Lord has prepared his people for a great slaughter and has chosen their executioners._

_Cursed be he that doeth the work of the Lord negligently, and cursed be he that keepeth back his sword from blood._

_I will send the sword to kill, the dogs to drag away, the vultures to devour, and the wild animals to finish up what is left._

"What does it all mean?" Athos sat down heavily with a sigh. "It has to mean something… This is the only connection we have to the murderer's state of mind."

"Well, he probably means himself with the chosen executioner reference…" Aramis leaned over to look at the scrawled words. "He doesn't want to be cursed by doing the Lord's work negligently, or keeping his sword from blood… and the last one seems quite self explanatory."

"Is there any significance to the parts of the bible he has chosen to quote from?"

Aramis studied them for a moment. "Not that I can see… but he is clearly a religious man. He knows the good book well."

Porthos gave the others a serious eye. "Maybe we should put a little more pressure on the priests."

"_Porthos_…" Aramis said his name as a chastisement. "They are men of God, we must respect them."

"Men of God they might be, but they are men all the same."

"I can tell you now they will not speak of anything said during confession. Priests have endured torture and gone to their deaths before breaking that inviolable seal."

Porthos scowled a little and turned away.

"Still, I think it might be worth having another word." Athos intervened in a more delicate tone.

"Very well." Aramis conceded. "I'll visit Father Chardin. He's the priest at the church I attend; he might be a bit more helpful… especially considering lives are at stake."

Athos stared at the notes and frowned, deep in thought. His words came slowly. "Only the musketeers have notes left with them… Only the musketeers are killed by blades... Their own weapons no less."

Porthos shrugged. "Could mean something, could mean nothing. Perhaps just the unravelling mind of a madman."

At that d'Artagnan warily put forwards an idea. "Their own weapons turned against them… What if we're looking at a musketeer? One of our own turned against us?"

"Don't be foolish." Aramis scoffed. "A musketeer would never kill one of their brothers."

"It was just a thought…" d'Artagnan trailed off.

Athos and Porthos remained quiet, staring at the notes intently.

Aramis broke the uneasy silence by getting to his feet. "I'll go and have that word with Father Chardin. Are we drawing straws for tonight?"

"Certainly not." Athos' head shot up. "You decided to stay with Porthos, so with Porthos you shall stay."

Treville insisted the musketeers remain together at all times, even at night. Paquin had been killed in his own bed, and so the Captain did not want to take any chances.

Aramis sighed over dramatically. "But he snores!"

"I do not!"

**~oOo~**

Aramis found it was not Porthos' snoring that kept him awake. It was something else entirely.

They were at Porthos' lodgings and the hour was late, but Aramis sat wide awake at the table. It was positioned before the window where a flood of moonlight cast shadows against his hands atop the wooden surface. He leaned against the table, his dagger twisting slowly between his fingers. Every so often Aramis' eyes wandered to Porthos, making sure he was still there and that he still lived.

He had to protect Porthos. He had failed to protect so many… but Aramis was a soldier, and it was his duty to protect. He closed his eyes and shuddered out a breath. The names and faces of the fallen ran seamlessly behind his shut eyes… Every one one of the twenty beneath snow, Isabelle, Marsac, Allais… He would die before failing Porthos.

And so Aramis stood watch, keeping his silent vigil through the night.

At one point he thought the door rattled under the hand of some unseen intruder. Aramis took hold of his dagger in a tight fist and crept over. He crouched behind the heavy door, and it shook again. Taking a deep breath Aramis stood and tore it open, holding his weapon aloft. But there was nobody there… Only a wild gust of wind battered his face. Aramis let out a relieved breath. The wind. It was just the wind. Still, he stood a moment, watching and waiting. Aramis wasn't sure how much time passed as he listened intently to the near silent night. It wasn't entirely quiet. There were voices on the breeze, a whisper caressed his face… or was it screaming?

Aramis shook his head. No screaming… Not here, not now. The night_ was_ quiet. Taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, he shut the door and turned to find Porthos still deep asleep. A half smile pulled at his lips. Porthos could sleep through anything. Aramis imagined even the last trumpet sounding for the day of judgment would not wake him.

Aramis approached Porthos' bed, just to be sure, just to see he still drew breath. Some stealthy intruder may have slipped in during the distraction. He held out the dagger, its pale shadow lengthened across the bed sheets as he drew near. But there was no intruder, no distraction. It was just the wind.

Still, there_ was _an intruder out there. A murderer intent on spilling their blood.

So Aramis would keep his watch.

**~oOo~**

The next day Aramis seemed to sleepwalk through his duties. It was instantly picked up on by Porthos.

"I know you didn't go to bed last night." He pointed out in an accusing tone.

"How do you know? You were fast asleep. I could have dropped a tonne of rocks on your head and you would have slept on." Aramis shot back at him.

"I left you some bedding on the floor, and it was untouched."

"Well… I might have just been extremely tidy and straightened it all before you woke."

That earned him a withering glance from Porthos.

"Alright… I just couldn't sleep. Knowing there's a killer out there. If anything happened to you I would never forgive myself."

Porthos smiled. "I'm touched, I really am, but you need to sleep. How about we take it in turns tonight? We'll both get a decent night's rest and we can share the bed then too."

"If you insist…"

"I do."

**~oOo~**

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."

Aramis clasped his hands tightly in confession, his fingers slipped together… they were wet… slick…

The box he sat in wasn't much larger than a coffin. The air was musty and stale. It felt worn with the weight of sins coating each breath that had been whispered through the grating. The words were covered in guilt. Aramis could taste it in the air, through the bitter, metallic tang doing its best to mask the scent… Outside there was the intrusive clacking of footsteps against flagstones. The sound echoed back and forth until it became quieter, dying away to nothing. He listened intently to the silence. It smothered everything.

And then there was the gentle creak of wood as movement shifted the box around him. It was familiar and comforting in a way.

A heavy breath sighed through the grating. "There is no absolution... Not for you."

_Hands against flesh… soft and hard… squeezing, crushing, breaking..._

"Please Father…" His voice broke, choked off with a sob.

_Red against white… ravens and crows… rending, tearing, consuming..._

"You can't protect them. You can't even protect yourself."

_Swords and steel and screaming… screaming and screaming and SCREAMING._

Aramis suddenly felt his own breath cut off. He gasped and heaved, lungs spasming at bringing in nothing… Nothing but the tainted breath of sinners enclosed in a wooden box. He was choking on it. _Lies, theft, adultery… murder_. Aramis flailed against the door in a panic, clawing at the wood, his nails gouged tracks against his coffin lid.

And then mercifully it gave way. Aramis burst out and crashed down to the cold stone floor, on his hands and knees, gagging and trembling... trying to drag a clean breath in. Through the blur of his eyes there was a trail of red… pitches and patches… it ran between his slick hands and onward down the nave. Slowly Aramis brought his head up and followed the bloody trail all the way to the altar. He got to his feet in one smooth action and pursued it to the end. There he found Father Chardin. The priest was spread eagle on his back, head hanging over the side of the altar so his grey face stared at Aramis upside down. But he couldn't stare… You needed eyes to stare, and Father Chardin had been robbed of his. There were just two black empty holes. Still, they managed to fix accusingly on Aramis all the same. A caw sounded from the thief, standing proudly atop his victim's chest. From its morbid perch the raven watched Aramis, just as Father Chardin watched with his false stare. The raven was wrong though, it had feathers white and pure as fresh fallen snow, and piercing pale pink eyes.

Aramis felt a hollow at his heart... a cracked sob threatened to erupt, but his throat was full of dust… clogged with unabsolved sins. Instead he reached out a tentative hand and stepped forwards. The raven flared its feathers and shrieked, warning him away. Aramis flinched, the awful cawing crashed around the aisles and arches before colliding into him again and again. For a moment he cowered and considered taking flight, but then something changed... Suddenly Aramis lunged forwards and took the raven about its scrawny neck. The cries reached fever pitch before dying abruptly under the sudden, violent, twitch of his fingers. Aramis drew it in close, restraining those white wings with his other arm. It felt so fragile now… The raven was no ghost, no phantom, not a herald of doom. It was just a delicate creature of flesh and bone. The trapped bird struggled against Aramis' chest as he tightened his hold… tighter and tighter… _squeezing, crushing, breaking_… He felt small bones give way and savoured each crack. The terrible sound echoed gloriously around the church. It almost seemed as if the great stone structure itself was shattering around him. When the raven stilled, Aramis' arms seemed to lose strength and he let the bird drop... It was left a ruined heap on the ground.

Slowly, Aramis brought his hands up to drag tired eyes across his palms. They were dirty, bloody, unclean. He moved over to the font… Holy water would make him clean again. He looked down into tainted red water, and his worn reflection looked up from the marred surface. There was a bloody cross anointing his forehead.

He didn't scream.

His throat was still full of dust…

But there was screaming… somewhere far, far away. Aramis fell back, and when he landed his head did not crack open against the hard stone as he expected. There was something soft at his back, and there were strong hands gripping him.

"Aramis! Wake up!"

He shot upright and heaved in a great breath as if he'd been drowning. Aramis certainly felt wet. As he came to awareness he realised he was drenched in sweat. Porthos peered at him through weak candlelight with an expression of pure worry.

"Are you alright? That was some nightmare…"

Aramis lay back down, he still gasped at the air as if it were too thin… Aramis felt exhausted, but he managed a nod for his friend.

"Do you want to talk about it? Was it… you know?"

Aramis licked his dry lips and turned away. Porthos seemed to take that as confirmation. He reached out to place a hand on Aramis' arm, the distresed musketeer flinched beneath his fingers.

"You're safe here. I'm watching over you, and I'm not going to leave."

Aramis' breathing had settled down, but his face was still turned away from Porthos.

"Look at me Aramis."

He reluctantly dragged his eyes over.

"I will _never_ leave you - do you understand?"

Aramis looked at his friend for a long moment before giving a shaky nod.

Porthos smiled sadly and turned to look out the window. It was still dark outside, but the sky had started to lighten a touch. Dawn was on its way.

"Do you think you can get a bit of sleep?"

Aramis tried to whisper out a hoarse 'no'.

"Here… let me…" Porthos went to fetch a drink of water.

After helping Aramis to take a few sips he filled a basin with water and set about wiping the sheen of sweat from his friend's skin.

"I think you should stop here today, you don't seem at all well."

Aramis wanted to object, but he was just so exhausted… worn entirely to the bone. Perhaps a day of rest would do him good. Although he wouldn't be getting much rest if he was subjected to the horrors of last night every time he closed his eyes.

They sat together in companionable silence while the sun chased the night's lingering hold away. Aramis dozed lightly, not managing to fall fully asleep. Porthos only moved to blow out the candles when their light was no longer needed.

Eventually the hour came when Porthos had to ready himself for duty. He firmly told Aramis to stay put and set about washing and dressing. Aramis watched him go about his activities through half lidded eyes. Just as Porthos was affixing his sword and pistol a heavy knock came at the door.

Porthos frowned and went to open it. Athos stood there with d'Artagnan at his back. "You both need to come quickly."

"Aramis is stopping here today, he isn't well."

Porthos moved to block Athos from sight a little. They lowered their voices but Aramis still caught snatches of their conversation… _Father Chardin_… _found dead_…_ mutilated_…

Aramis saw the vision of his dream… Father Chardin, spread eagle on the altar... missing eyes... the ghost of a raven screaming on his chest…

Suddenly he shot up and fished for the chamber pot beneath the bed. Aramis got to it just in time to heave up spit and bile. There was the sensation of feathers brushing against his face… and then hands and soft voices supporting him. _I told you he wasn't well..._

**~oOo~**

When Porthos returned later on he brought some broth for Aramis. He handed it over with few words and an unusually cold manner… There was a stony quality to Porthos' expression. For a moment Aramis wondered if his friend was mad at him, but Porthos seemed distracted, his thoughts were elsewhere. He must have seen something that had shaken him deeply.

"Porthos, what's wrong?" Aramis managed between sips.

"Nothing…" He summoned the ghost of a smile, Aramis noticed it didn't reach his eyes.

There were no little gestures of comfort that flowed easily between the two men. No squeeze of an arm, or pat to the knee. The distance between the bed and Porthos' chair seemed a chasm. Aramis watched with concern as Porthos slipped into staring at the middle distance. His mind was somewhere else.

**~oOo~**

Something had changed when Aramis returned to his duties. All three of his companions seemed shaken and distant. They refused to tell him about Father Chardin. He supposed they were saving him the grief. Aramis had heard Athos at the door… he had heard that word… _mutilated_. But he was grieved all the same. The priest had been like a father to him at times. Whenever he felt lost and adrift from his faith Father Chardin was there to ground him. After Savoy he had spent many an hour seated on a pew, trying to make sense of everything with the priest by his side. The thought of him dead… killed and mutilated… It set a fire in Aramis' heart like no other.

Aramis made his way to the garrison with Porthos, it was getting late and they were to report for night duty. A strained silence hung between them. Aramis looked to his friend, but Porthos stared straight ahead with a frown marring his features.

Aramis huffed out a frustrated sigh. Something had to be said. "Will you tell me what happened?"

"No." The answer was abrupt, as if it were an end to a conversation that had only just begun.

"There is something troubling you… all of you… and I just want to share the burden."

"You don't want to know, Aramis."

"You can't protect me from everything. Though you try." He knew it was a hypocritical thing to say, what with his own need to protect his brothers, but Aramis didn't want to be coddled.

As they passed through the archway Porthos gave a weary breath. "Ask me again another day…"

Aramis suppressed a growl and made for the bench. He wasn't getting any answers tonight. The garrison was quiet. Not a soul graced the courtyard until d'Artagnan approached from the direction of the stables. The boy looked distracted, but at least he made an attempt at brushing it off. d'Artagnan managed to paint a faint smile on his face as he hailed his friends.

Aramis stalled before he took a seat. A cold hand clutched his heart. There on the table were two pieces of parchment. He drew in a careful breath and warily reached out to take one.

'_Your blood will be poured out into the dust, and your bodies will lie there rotting on the ground._'

He passed it to Porthos before picking up the other.

'_Strap on your swords! Go back and forth from one end of the camp to the other, killing even your brothers, friends, and neighbors._'

"He was here..." Aramis spoke with a note of fear. "He must have come here to place the notes."

"Look, there's something on the back."

They turned the notes over to reveal another message. '_When the bells toll seven, they shall go to heaven._' A location followed, Porthos' held a road near the Louvre while Aramis' was near Notre Dame.

"He's going to kill again." Aramis said grimly.

"But he can't murder two people at the same time in different places." Porthos fixed Aramis with a serious eye. "He means to draw us out and split us up."

"It's a trap for sure, but this is our chance to catch him! How long do we have?"

"Not long, twenty minutes if that."

"Then we have to leave now… Porthos, follow your note, and I shall follow mine. d'Artagnan, find Athos and come after us. We will not face him alone."

The boy shot off.

Porthos reached out to grasp Aramis' shoulder. "Stay safe… Don't do anything reckless."

Aramis managed a small smile. "You know me too well, my friend."

"And that's what worries me."


	4. Chapter 4

**Note:** Here is the final chapter. I'm going to take the opportunity to thank you all now, you may not be feeling quite so benevolent by the end XD So thank you all for reading, reviewing, following and favouriting! I hope you enjoy...

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Aramis took to the streets, lungs burning with the effort of sprinting. Finally, here was their chance to catch the killer! It was a strange departure from his pattern, but the killings had differed enough already. Perhaps he was becoming bolder. Instead of striking in back alleys he was drawing his victims out to him. Or perhaps he just wanted to end the ones who had been hunting him down, and this little game had to be employed to split them up.

Suddenly Aramis came to an abrupt halt. There was another option.

Perhaps he was drawing them out, drawing them away from the garrison… His victims had started out as ladies of the night before he moved on to their stable boy, and then the musketeers themselves. Perhaps he was moving up another step on the ladder. Perhaps he intended to finish off the musketeers by cutting off the head of the snake... Cut off the head and the body will founder.

Aramis swore.

_Treville_.

And then another terrible thought dawned upon him. Maybe the killer had never even left the garrison. Maybe it was already too late.

Aramis turned about and desperately ran back the way he had come. He sent up a quick prayer, half hoping he was not wrong. While he did not want Treville's life in danger he did not want to be abandoning someone to die down a back alley by the Notre Dame.

Aramis hurtled through the archway, sweat running down his face and into his eyes. Then he took the stairs two at a time and crashed into Treville's office.

"Aramis?! What is the meaning of this?" He yelled.

Breathing raggedly, Aramis slammed the door and put his back to it. "Apologies, Captain… But I believe you're in danger."

It was hard to get his words out through each panted breath, but he had to get the Captain to understand.

"We found notes… splitting us up… but it was just to draw us out… He's here... He's coming for you."

Treville glared up from behind his desk. Candlelight flickered and cast strange shadows about the room… Slowly the Captain slid his chair back.

"No doubt he is."

Aramis frowned, how was he being so calm about this?

"Sir? We must barricade the door. Will you help me with the table?" He set his hands down against the heavy oaken structure and made to heave it over.

"It won't do any good."

Aramis stopped and straightened, facing his Captain. "Why not? We have to try. The battle isn't over yet."

Treville hadn't moved from his chair. The Captain just stared thoughtfully up at Aramis in a way he found quite disturbing. "I knew he would come. I knew I would face him eventually…"

At that Aramis was astounded. He took a step towards Treville's desk and the Captain reflexively moved back. "All this time you knew who it was?!"

Still he remained outwardly calm. "I suspected… I spoke to him before… it was after Savoy. I didn't think he would come back."

Aramis took in a harsh breath. "You can't mean Marsac… we buried Marsac… I shot him myself. The rest all died in that accursed forest. I sat with their fallen bodies."

_Blood and snow and steel..._

"I brought one back alive."

_Blood running into eyes, down frozen flesh, across marred hands..._

"You only brought me back, Sir…"

_Red running into white, stealing black feathers, and shrieking and shrieking and screaming and SCREAMING SCREAMING SCREAMINGSCREAMINGSCREAMING._

"A head injury can do strange things to a man…"

Aramis closed his eyes tightly and pressed a hand to his temple.

The office seemed to flicker and fade… _trapped_… the desk disappeared, replaced by a bed… _small room_… Treville was here and there… _no way out_…

_He sat with head cocked, watching the man before him with cold eyes. He did not blink. He did not need to blink. His frame was straight and to attention, though not for the benefit of this so called Captain…_

"_Can you hear the screaming?" He asked._

_The man said nothing._

_He squinted slightly, trying to see beneath the flesh. "I want to pick your bones apart and find out what you are made of… There is something screaming inside you. Can't you hear it?"_

"_That's enough, Aramis." The man's voice was hard._

_But that was just another curiosity. "I will take your voice apart… separate each word, each letter… Why stone? Why hard as stone? I am not him."_

"_Aramis, please…"_

_His face transformed into a snarl. "I AM NOT HIM! Heathens… heathens… all of you, made up of sins. That's what I will find in your bones... in your voice... dust of sins. You've stolen me away and smothered me with sins… No matter… No matter… I will strip you of them eventually."_

"_Let it go, Aramis."_

_He looked down to find a ruined animal on his lap. Perhaps it had been a cat once… it was pulled apart. Black fur gave way to exposed bone, and organs spilled out across the floor. His red fists were clutching tightly to the remnants._

_He looked up from the filthy floor and bared his teeth. "I will have you one day."_

_A knock came at the door then. The man backed up to open it, not willing to take his eyes away… They spoke in hushed voices, but snatched words of dust slipped through..._

"_... together with the head injury, the cold and the trauma… I don't know… I can't promise anything…"_

"_... can you give him something? I don't want the others to see him like this…"_

"_... keep him under… if he wakes… if he's like this… send for me…"_

Aramis drew his hand away and looked at Treville with pure confusion on his face.

"Sir? I don't… I can't…" A sudden feeling of dread took his heart. Aramis put a hand into his pocket and felt sick as his fingers brushed against paper. Tentatively he pulled out a piece of parchment and unfolded it to find a familiar scrawl.

'_I will fill your mountains with the dead. Your hills, your valleys, and your streams will be filled with people slaughtered by the sword_.'

He dropped it as if he'd been burned. That wasn't his writing, he couldn't have written it, why was it in his pocket? This felt like some waking nightmare.

And yet the nightmare he had had felt so real… Even now he could recall the slick wet feel of blood between his fingers.

"I did this? No… I couldn't… This isn't me… Stop looking at me like that. Stop it!"

Treville looked wary, as if he were facing a wolf. The Captain got to his feet and made to come around his desk. "It's alright Aramis, just sit down..."

But there was a flash of white sparks behind his eyes and a pain shot through his head.

_Blood… stab… kill… He is the one that matters. His death will free you… You came here to do this. DO IT!_

Aramis opened his eyes again and found Treville against the wall. His rapier was hovering just before the Captain's throat...

A note of fear tainted his voice. "Sir… I didn't mean to… I don't know how this happened… I..."

Treville's eyes were shining as he pressed his head back against the wall. "It's alright, Aramis."

Aramis clutched his head and then looked up with a roar. "I AM NOT HIM!"

Suddenly a blade slid effortlessly to his own throat. "Who are you then?"

His eyes tracked sideways to lock onto Athos as he hissed."I am _René._"

**~oOo~**

_He was only meant to be a soldier for a time. Half his life had been spent in the seminary until an unfortunate incident with a beautiful lady… He took on a name as he took on the sins. _Aramis_. But it was only for a time._

_Still, time slipped by, month after month and year after year until the soldier seemed to forget he had ever clasped his hands in prayer. Yet Aramis clung onto some form of faith, as tenuous a hold as it was. Deep at the heart of him there was a terrible contradiction that set the man at war with himself. He could not be a man of God and a man of the sword. Thou shalt not kill - and yet he slaughtered so many. The same lips he prayed with left a trail of kisses down the neck of another man's wife… sin after sin after sin… It was easier to separate himself. Split himself into two. Aramis and René. The soldier and the priest. _

_And then he suffered living through a massacre on powdered ground._

_The screaming had never really stopped. But eventually Aramis couldn't hear it._

_René became impatient. The sins were mounting up, and Aramis showed no sign of stopping nor returning to his true vocation. Something had to be done. Somehow he had to strip the sins away._

_He would start with the lovers. It was easy enough to lure the ladies of the night down a back alley. They were happy to see a familiar face._

"_Aramis! Where have you been these past weeks? My bed grows cold without you."_

"_Forgive me. Duty has kept me busy." He would not lower himself and speak of warming her bed, but words were not at all necessary. More often than not a dashing smile was all it took before the women clasped his hand and followed him away._

"_Oh, Aramis…" Her dirty hands pawed at his clothes, at his flesh… He would need to wash afterwards… clean away her sinful touch. And then when she leaned in for a taste he took her delicate neck between his fingers… _

"_Ara-" He stole her breath with his hands, not soft kisses as she expected. Squeezing, crushing, breaking… Tighter and tighter… Her face paled… eyes widened… lips worked wordlessly… Just as a dying animal lashes out, her hands flailed at him, scratching, clawing… She could not harm or mark him. The wretched creature grew weaker, her pulse dulled beneath his fingers. When her body became dead weight he let her drop to the ground. For a moment René leaned over the carcass. He peered into her sightless eyes and wondered if he could watch her soul depart. He had felt it yearning to be free, smothered by so much sin..._

_And so the man of God choked out the dust of sins from their throats. They wouldn't confess freely, so he had to draw it out… Hands against flesh… soft and hard… squeezing, crushing, breaking… And with the stubborn ones, where sin lay so deeply ingrained, he had to cut it out._

_He hungered for more. The attachments of flesh were being cut away, but the attachments of brotherhood were strong. They would not be severed so easily. He just needed a way in… a foot in the door. And the stable boy was easy. _

_René asked the lad for his opinion on a horse. Though Pierre was young he grew up on a horse farm and had a good eye for confirmation. It wasn't unusual for the musketeers to seek his thoughts on a prospective purchase. He readily agreed to meet René by a yard near the Seine. _

"_Pierre! It is good of you to come." René painted on a cheerful smile. "I feared she might be a little high at the croup and over at the knee… She's just through there."_

_The boy gave a shy smile in return. "Always happy to help a musketeer."_

_As soon as Pierre turned his back René brought the butt of his pistol down viciously on his head. Again and again the gun came down until blood flecked the air. When the body was still, René paused in his work. He stared down at the ruined flesh lying in brittle straw, red amongst yellow beneath him… The boy hadn't even cried out. René drew an arm across his face, wiping away sweat and specks of blood. For a moment there was nothing… no mission, no ties to break… Just himself, and this body. The boy had not been bathed in sin like the others. Was his soul meant for Heaven? He rolled the carcass over and his shattered head lolled. The eyes were tight closed. Had his soul taken flight?_

_When he was finished, René threw the boy's body into the river and washed the stains from his hands. He had to move on._

"_Maret! Come here a minute… I think I might have found something."_

_It was easier than he expected to murder a musketeer. He supposed they were brothers, they trusted so deeply. Maret followed René down an alley and to a pile of crates where he pointed out a non-existent smudge of blood. When Maret bent down René drew the dagger from his sheath._

_He shot up and spun around. "Aramis? What are you-"_

_The look of confusion turned to shock when René mercilessly thrust the blade into Maret's chest. He drove forwards with his free hand to cover Maret's mouth and smother his scream. The musketeer had no time to defend himself... his agony lasted only a moment. The light left his eyes so quickly. René dropped the dagger to one side and watched. The eyes were hollow, the soul had gone. Blood spilled out and seeped across his jacket. It gathered on the ground and ceased when the heart had emptied. There was nothing left. Just remains._

_René straightened and pulled a note out of his pocket. He carefully placed it by the body. They needed to be reminded of the bible. They needed to know the fate of those who strayed from God._

_Allais was no match at all. He should have watched his back. It was just another mistake in a long line of mistakes for the lad. René drew up behind and drove his head into the wall, knocking him senseless. While Allais reeled from the blow, René pulled his sword from its sheath and ran him through. The lad shrieked like a stricken rabbit. When he fell to the ground the sword slipped out. René watched him for a moment... he twitched, blood bubbled between the lad's lips while his jaw worked uselessly. René watched so carefully… and then it happened, between one breath and the next that didn't come. His soul departed. _

_The lad's face was left frozen with an eternal expression of horror. René pulled himself away from it and turned his attention to the note in his pocket. This one he placed over the wound with care, and he thrust the sword back in to keep it in place. There was no screaming or twitching the second time... _

_And then René turned his back and slipped away, letting Aramis return to catch the man fleeing in a panic… Aramis would not have heard the scream._

_Paquin was a little harder. René broke into his room easily enough, but the noise of the lock giving way must have woken him. As soon as René took up the musketeer's dagger and advanced towards him Paquin reared up to block René's wrist. _

"_Aramis! For God's sake, Aramis! What is wrong with you?!" The man bellowed._

"_I am not him!" _

_René tried to wrench his wrist away. In the struggle both men fell from the bed, crashing into the bedside table. They rolled on the floor, trading blows, each trying to gain advantage over the other. Paquin put up a good fight, but being addled with sleep and unprepared, he was no match for René. The dagger claimed its victim, sinking into his chest so easily. _

_René placed him back in bed, almost as gently as a parent would tuck in their child. He dropped the note and returned to his own bed, where Aramis would sleep and wake none the wiser._

_Father Chardin was a mistake._

"_Aramis, back again so soon? Have you made any progress with the murders?" _

_René flinched at that name. "Father, I have come to confess my sins."_

"_Oh, of course, please step this way."_

_He admitted everything. But he was denied absolution._

"_My son… I cannot absolve you of these sins. You admit you will kill again." The priest sounded shaken to the core. Did he not understand? "All I can do is pray with you. We will ask God for his help in setting you right."_

"_I am bringing him back to the righteous path! Do you not understand this is necessary?"_

"_Thou shalt not kill, Aramis."_

"_Please Father… I need the sacrament. I need to hear the words..."_

"_These are the only words you will hear unless you choose to pray with me - Thou shalt not kill."_

"_Father… I am doing God's work. Cursed be he that keepeth back his sword from blood!"_

"_Thou shalt not kill, Aramis. Come to me again when you are ready to pray." The wooden box creaked as Father Chardin left._

_René shot out and caught him by the arm, throwing him down to the ground. He straddled the priest and relentlessly dashed his head against the flagstones, over and over, shrieking "absolve me!" with each blow. A river of blood ran over the cold stone floor… and finally he stopped, breathing hard with exertion. René hunched over the dead priest, holding his face an inch away from those slack features… He examined each rut and pit of aged skin. It needed taking apart. There was holiness somewhere within. He would find it._

_And so René dragged the priest's body to the altar, leaving a trail of red behind him. Perhaps absolution would spill out if he removed the eyes… René took his dagger in hand and set to work. He ripped open those dark robes and started cutting words 'thou' 'shalt' 'not' and 'kill' into cooling flesh. _

_When he finished he stood back. There was nothing… no absolution. It wasn't here. Not in this man, not in this place. Perhaps he would have it when Aramis was torn away… He had to get back to work._

_René went to wash his hands clean in the font before returning to Porthos' room. For a moment he considered running the sleeping man through. It was another tie to sever. But a sudden pain unfurled behind his eyes and Aramis seemed to stir from within. He rebelled at the mere thought… So René slipped away and allowed Aramis to wake Porthos for his watch. Perhaps he should save those three for last._

_Treville was the next target. Cutting off the head of the snake would deal a blow to the regiment. And he had told the Captain he would have him one day… Only those few musketeers stood in the way, but they were simple fools and easily gotten rid of with a diversion. He would just have to let Aramis run away with it for a moment. All it took was a couple of hastily written notes, and then he went to retrieve Porthos._

_The final note for Treville was left in his pocket._

**~oOo~**

Aramis came to face down on the floor. There was a hand on his neck, keeping his head down, and an arm across his back. He struggled a moment before stilling… Something was terribly terribly wrong, he couldn't remember doing _anything_.

"I think he's back with us. Aramis?" Porthos… so it was Porthos holding him down.

Fear ran unbridled through him. "Help me… please."

Porthos pulled Aramis upright and sat on the floor with him. Treville was back in his chair, with a seeping red line scoring his cheek. Athos stood at the ready a few feet away and d'Artagnan hovered in the doorway. Both had their swords out… There was tension in the room thick enough to cut through. Porthos' blade was cast haphazardly to one side. He put his large hands to Aramis' face and drew their foreheads together. Porthos' cheeks were damp, had he been crying?

"I didn't do anything…" Aramis whispered.

Porthos' voice seemed to tremble. "You did…"

"Please, Porthos, you have to believe me." In that moment it felt like there was just the two of them in the room.

"I wish I could… but you were the only connection between the girls, aside from Madame Angel's… The last anyone heard of Pierre he was talking to you about a horse. Aramis… you're not buying a horse." Porthos paused to shudder in a breath. "The whole thing with Allais… you were there, there was never anybody but you. And I wouldn't have believed any of it… but Paquin's place was a mess, and in the middle of it all was the ring you showed me. Still, I didn't want to believe it… but you were just seen placing the notes. We never left. We've been here waiting for you… Oh God, Aramis, the priest…"

Porthos clutched tightly at Aramis' face, the young musketeer found that he was shaking.

"It wasn't _me_." Aramis choked out.

"You don't know what you're like do you? You can't see yourself… I had to hold you down, Aramis. You were like a wild animal. I never imagined I would have to..." Porthos shut his eyes tight and pressed his lips together, trying to hold something in.

Aramis put his hand to Porthos' wrist. "Help me… Porthos."

He opened his shining eyes again and looked at his friend so regretfully. "I said I would never leave you, and I won't."

"I need your_ help_…" Aramis drew back slowly. "Will you not help me?"

Porthos' head dropped down, and his eyes settled on the floor. Aramis clutched at his hands.

"Porthos? Please... answer me!" His grip tightened and Athos moved in.

Treville got to his feet and tried to intervene. "Here, let me, you shouldn't have to…"

But Athos raised a hand. "It's alright, I've got him."

Aramis' hands were wrenched behind his back and bound tightly. Still, he did not take his eyes away from Porthos.

"Aramis, I'm going to get you up now." Athos hauled him to his feet and waited a moment for Aramis to take his weight. "We're just going to go outside."

d'Artagnan moved to flank him with Athos, and together they moved to the door. Aramis was in a daze… Porthos still hadn't spoken, he didn't even look up.

Treville's voice was the last thing he heard faintly from the room. "It's my fault. I should have realised. I should have done something."

His two friends held him steady down the stairs. Aramis was still in something of a stupor, where were they taking him? Things were moving too fast, he hadn't a chance to catch up or take hold. What was happening? Why was this happening? And then it all became clear when a contingent of guards marched through the archway. Aramis baulked at the sight of them. Athos and d'Artagnan's supporting hands suddenly turned restrictive. They held him in place, keeping him from running.

"Aramis, the guards are just here to escort us. There's no need to fear them." Athos spoke evenly and lightly, as if they were about to have a nice stroll around the city.

"Escort us where?" Aramis asked nervously.

"I… I think you know where." There it was, the crack in his voice that betrayed the fact all was not well.

So he was to be caged like the wild animal Porthos thought he was.

They pushed him forwards, but after that Aramis fought them all the way.

**~oOo~**

His brothers visited him behind bars. Aramis faded in and out, all too aware now of the moments he wasn't aware… The moments he was something else. Porthos had tried to explain, but Aramis was stolen away before the whole story could be told. He was left feeling half a man…

On one occasion he had come around to find Porthos pressed against the bars, the large man's face was stained with tears. Aramis moved closer and reached out a hand, but his friend moved away, recoiling from his touch.

"Porthos?" He asked tentatively.

"I'm sorry." The man shuddered in a breath. "There is just something in you that scares me."

At hearing that, a sick feeling unfurled deep in Aramis' heart...

The next time Aramis slipped away, he woke to find his hands tightly clutching the bars of his cage. Athos stood back, nearly touching the opposite wall. He looked as white as a sheet and seemed to tremble slightly. Aramis felt so lost and confused, it was like being thrust into the middle of something he had no understanding of.

"Athos?" He whispered.

The older man nearly flinched at the sound of his voice, seemingly still in shock.

What on earth had passed between them?

"I don't know what happened… Athos, you have to tell me, what did I say?"

For a moment Athos looked at him as if he were trying to fathom something in the depths of Aramis' eyes. But the horror never left his face. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, as if lost for words.

"Athos, please…" Aramis reached an arm through the bars towards his friend.

At that Athos' eyes widened. He abruptly turned to leave as if chased from the room by some nightmare.

"What did I say?!" Aramis yelled after him.

There was no answer, save for the slam of a door.

When d'Artagnan came, Aramis was himself. There was no greeting. The lad just sat down cross legged and leaned his back against the wall, facing Aramis.

For a moment he was quiet, and then he drew out a pistol and placed it on his lap. "I was hoping you wouldn't be you."

Aramis eyed the pistol warily.

"It would make this easier." The lad's voice was tainted by sorrow.

Aramis' voice was a hoarse and horrified whisper. "Do you mean to shoot me?"

"I came to put a rabid animal out of its misery. Better this than…" d'Artagnan looked away for a moment, unable to finish his sentence. Once he had swallowed his tears back, he met Aramis' eyes. "But since you are you, I will give you a choice."

d'Artagnan placed the pistol down on the ground in front of him. "Do you want this?"

This time it was Aramis who backed away from the bars.

"No… I do not."

**~oOo~**

The sun was high in the sky when he took to the stairs and stepped out on the raised platform.

There were crowds of people watching. It was a spectacle…_ he_ was a spectacle. Still, an eerie silence reigned as a nearby voice bellowed out the list of his sins.

True to his word, Porthos was there, looking up with shining eyes. He had never left. Athos was nowhere to be seen, and d'Artagnan had turned away, pushing back through the throng to escape…

Idly, Aramis wondered what he had said to Athos. He would never know now. All Aramis knew was that there was something evil within him. He had seen it in the fearful eyes of his brothers. It needed to die, and if he had to die…

The bellowing voice stopped just as bells began to toll the hour.

There was a length of rope in front of him.

But no screaming. Aramis was silent as he stepped forwards.

Still, he heard screaming... though he couldn't tell if it was something inside him or the voices of his brothers.

It stopped.

Everything stopped.

_And our screaming  
Is in his screaming_


End file.
